


A Distance Erased with the Greatest of Ease

by dragongirlG



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cinderella Elements, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Alexander Pierce, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort Bingo Round 10, Hydra (Marvel), Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, Podfic Welcome, Scars, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Stucky Bingo 2019, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: It's been six years since Bucky lost his title, his wealth, and his freedom in an ill-fated bandit attack that left his family and friends dead. Now, he works in his old family estate as a slave to Lord Alexander Pierce and his two retainers, Sir Brock and Sir Jack, who treat Bucky as little more than an animal due to his omega designation.When word comes that Crown Prince Steven is hosting a ball to choose a mate, Lord Pierce seizes his chance to pay off his debts by making Bucky seduce the Prince and bear his child. Unbeknownst to Lord Pierce, Prince Steven is actually Bucky's childhood friend, Steven Grant Rogers, who took on a new name after recovering from the bandit attack. Steve spots Bucky at the ball and escorts him outside to talk privately, setting off a chain of events that changes all  their lives forever.A Stucky A/B/O Cinderella AU featuring omega Bucky who's got a stronger will than anyone knows, gentle and righteous alpha Steve, scheming bastard Alexander Pierce, and a well-deserved happy ending. Cross-fill for Stucky Bingo 2019 (square: "A/B/O") and Hurt/Comfort Bingo Round 10 (square: "scars").





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those stories that just...happened. As usual, themes of bodily autonomy, agency, consent, free will, and the usual feature heavily in this fic. Please heed the tags.
> 
> Note: Sexual assault, abuse, and harassment is not between Steve and Bucky, though a blanket warning for dubious consent involving A/B/O dynamics does apply.

Bucky's day begins with a harsh knock on the door.

"Get up, omega! I'm starving."

Bucky jolts upright at Sir Brock's growl and hastily stumbles to a standing position. The stone floor is freezing as always, and he shivers as he pulls on his clothes, shame creeping up his spine as he notes the holes in the hems of his worn tunic and breeches. He wonders how much he'll have to beg Lord Pierce to get a new one.

He splashes water onto his face, cleans his teeth, and then allows himself the tiniest moment to look in the mirror and comb his hair. He tries to ignore the bare room reflected in the background: one lumpy straw pallet on the floor; a scratchy wool blanket he'd salvaged from the abandoned stables; a pillow that's barely more than a linen sack filled with rags.

A long time ago, he'd slept in a soft bed in a warm room in this house. He'd had a wardrobe full of fine silk and wool and leather, a collection of beautiful books and artwork and gifts, and a life full of love and laughter and family. He'd had a best friend, Steve, bright and beautiful to Bucky even though the rest of the world saw him as small and sickly. He'd had a future as the Barnes heir, set to inherit this estate and all the wealth that came with it. Then—

Bucky flinches and shoves the thought away. It's been six years. Lord George and Lady Winifred Barnes of Brooklyn, his parents, are gone, and so is his sister Lady Rebecca. Bucky's friends Gabe, Jim, Monty, Tim, and Jacques are gone, killed in the same bandit attack that took his family—and Steve.

There's nothing Bucky can do now but survive. Even if that means catering to the whims of Lord Pierce, his Alpha master, and Pierce's right-hand men, betas Sir Brock and Sir Jack; even if that means suffering daily small humiliations and occasionally worse; even if that means being leered at like a piece of meat, or kicked around like a dog, or—

Bucky shakes his head. He's a penniless omega with a disfigured arm. It's not like he'd be suited for anything else, certainly not the noble marriage he'd been groomed for since childhood.

He wishes someone else had purchased the estate—not Lord Alexander Pierce, a member of the royal security council and a two-time widower, but one of the noble families who had claimed to be allies of the Barnes family. Bucky doesn't blame anyone for not wanting to take charge of a disfigured omega who'd lost his dowry, especially the sole survivor of an attack that took out another heir (James "Monty" Falsworth), but surely they would have treated him better than this.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps they would've turned him out onto the street, thought him cursed and inauspicious. Perhaps Bucky couldn't have gotten better than Lord Pierce, who'd let him stay in his family home and brought in physicians to nurse him back to health. Lord Pierce gives him food and shelter, and he even supplies Bucky with a monthly potion that prevents his heats from coming, which in turn prevents Bucky from being mated unwillingly.

"Omega! Hurry it up!"

Bucky shakes himself out of his thoughts and wipes away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. With a deep breath, he puts on the blank mask he uses to get through the day.

Sir Brock and Sir Jack are both sitting at the long dining table, grumbling and poring over a long list of sums related to the supplies of the estate. Managing such things would have been one of Bucky's responsibilities as lord of the estate. Now, he says nothing, keeping his head down as he walks past them into the kitchen. 

Quickly, he gets to work, frying up sausages and mushrooms to serve alongside a plate of cheese, bread, and fruit. His stomach growls as he eyes the spread, but he ignores it. The only food Bucky gets is whatever Lord Pierce deigns to feed him and whatever Bucky manages to sneak in throughout the day.

Bucky carefully balances the plates and sets them down on the table, then goes to retrieve the cutlery and napkins. Lord Pierce is there when he returns, looking between Sir Brock and Sir Jack with disappointment. Bucky kneels next to his chair, trying not to wince as his knees and shins press into the cold, hard flagstones. He crosses his hands behind his back, bows his head, and waits.

The meal passes in a tense silence, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the sounds of eating. Lord Pierce holds out little pieces of food under the table, and Bucky receives them from his fingers like a dog, ignoring the wave of humiliation that sweeps over him. Instead, he carefully catalogues what he gets: three bits of sausage, ten grapes, a small hunk of cheese, and what amounts to one slice of bread. He'll need to find a way to get more soon, before he risks fainting while he's in the middle of cleaning the house. Lord Pierce usually goes to his study after breakfast, while Sir Brock and Sir Jack usually go to town. He'll have a good chance then.

Lord Pierce pats Bucky's head when the meal finishes, and Bucky rises, collecting the dishes. He can't help but jump when Sir Brock chuckles and playfully swats his ass as he's leaning over the table. Heat floods his cheeks, but he forces himself to finish what he's doing. He catches sight of Lord Pierce's amused look and the tail end of Sir Jack's eyeroll as he flees to the kitchen.

His gut twists in fear as he hears footsteps approach him from behind. He holds his breath as he dunks the dishes in a soapy lather, tension thrumming through his veins.

"Omega," says Lord Pierce, his voice cool, "Turn around."

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and wipes his hands on a rag, then wheels around, his eyes downcast.

Lord Pierce tips two fingers under his chin. "You're still rather pretty in the face," he says, assessing him critically. "And I suppose if the scars are concealed, your body passes well enough."

"I—I don't understand, my lord," Bucky ventures softly.

"No, of course you don't, you dumb little pet," says Lord Pierce with a sigh.

Bucky bites back the anger that shoots through him, hard and fast. He may be nearly mute these days, but he is not stupid.

Lord Pierce waves a hand, softening his tone. "I'm sorry, omega. I shouldn't have shouted. It's just that we're rather short on coin right now, and it's not easy to keep the estate with one extra mouth to feed."

Bucky throat tightens. Surely Lord Pierce isn't turning him out onto the streets. Bucky may not have riches anymore, but this is _his_ family's estate. It's his home.

Lord Pierce must read that in Bucky's face, because he pats Bucky's cheek. "We'll find a way, omega. You've done a wonderful job of earning your keep. In the next few weeks, you may have to take on a few additional duties. Just until we've recouped our costs. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord," says Buck, his heart pounding. _You're still rather pretty. Your body passes well enough._ Is Lord Pierce sending him to the brothel in town? That place requires beautiful bodies in lieu of grace and manners. Bucky would surely would not pass muster with his scars.

Bucky gets his question answered that afternoon, when Sir Brock and Sir Jack return from their trip in town. Bucky is in the foyer, scrubbing the flagstones free of accumulated dirt and grit. It's tedious but oddly satisfying; the exercise keeps him strong, and he can let his mind wander and escape into a fantasy of a better life, where his family his still alive and his friends are still around, where he's a treasured and respected master of the house instead of a nameless servant.

"Look at that pretty little ass wriggling around." Sir Brock's dark chuckle brings Bucky back down to the cold, hard ground, and Bucky hates him for it. Sir Brock continues, "It is enticing in its own way. We may not have to wait very long to get our money's worth out of it."

Sir Jack makes a disgusted noise. "I don't much like the idea of turning this place into a whorehouse, even if it's just temporary. Can you imagine the smell?"

"You ever taken a whiff of omega slick? Trust me, you won't be complaining after that. Zola's got some potion that will put him into heat—and another that will stop a pup from taking."

Sir Jack grunts. "Still not interested. I'll just go on an extended hunting trip till it's over. Hey, omega, you going to kneel there all day or are you going to start making our dinner?"

Bucky's been frozen with panic listening to their conversation. His hands shake as he gathers his bucket and rags, and he barely manages to avoid slopping water on the floor as he flees to the nearby courtyard. He drops the bucket and sinks to the ground, gripping his knees so tightly that his knuckles whiten.

Lord Pierce is going to whore Bucky out to his creditors. And he's going to make Bucky do it here, in this house, while he has a heat.

Bucky's first and only heat had occurred when he had presented at seventeen, a year before the attack that took his family, his friends, and his wealth. He'd spent most of it nesting in his old bedroom (now occupied by Sir Brock), drinking a finely honed brew made by Sarah Rogers, Steve's mother and a renowned wise woman, to stave off the worst of the pain while he satisfied himself with his own fingers as needed. At the end of the heat, Steve had slipped into the room, red-faced and stammering, and helped Bucky into a bath infused with soothing herbs. Steve himself hadn't presented yet; everyone expected him to be an omega, given his small stature and his health problems, but Bucky had been foolishly optimistic that Steve would turn out a beta or even an alpha.

There's no way to find out now. Steve is dead. The bandits had killed him, shot him right through the heart, when he'd jumped in front of Bucky on the road.

Bucky buries his face in his arms, tears leaking out of his eyes. He wishes he'd died during the attack, perished along with everyone else instead of being forced to live this hellish half-life. He wishes he'd never presented as an omega, had been a beta or an alpha like everyone had expected. He wishes…

Bucky had tried to run once, shortly after he woke up and realized everything good he'd had was gone. He'd taken his favorite secret passageway, the one he and Becca used to play in as children, gotten stalled at the stable when he realized all the horses were missing, and then set out on foot toward town.

He hadn't made it far. Sir Brock and Sir Jack had spotted him on the road when they were coming back from town and dragged him back toward the estate. Lord Pierce had beaten Bucky until Bucky had told him about all the secret passageways, and then he'd made Bucky watch as Sir Jack and Sir Brock sealed them all up.

Bucky hasn't left the estate since. Sir Brock and Sir Jack pick up any supplies from town, and Lord Pierce goes away occasionally to attend council meetings at the Triskelion fortress, but one of them is always here, keeping an eye on Bucky and giving him orders.

Bucky spends the next three days filled with a crushing dread about his upcoming fate. He's unable to sleep more than a few hours a night, and it shows; he burns the meals he's cooking, spills food and drink and soapy water during his daily tasks, almost falls asleep when he's kneeling under the table and waiting for Lord Pierce to feed him.

This, in turn, earns him a series of punishments that only worsens his state: Lord Pierce forces him to sleep outside in the stable one night, chaining him there for good measure; Sir Brock "supervises" him while he scrubs the floors, making him crawl on the flagstones and shred the skin on his knees; and Sir Jack locks him in a dark, dusty closet for hours on end, only letting him out when Bucky pleads that he needs to piss.

"Omegas are so damn useless," Sir Jack grouses, herding Bucky toward the privy with one hand on the back of Bucky's neck. "Don't come looking for me when you're done. Just stay out of my way."

Bucky complies with that order gratefully.

It's a dreary, cloudy afternoon when Dr. Arnim Zola, a short, squat surgeon wearing spectacles and a worn overcoat, visits the estate.

"Is this the omega, then?" Zola asks Lord Pierce, catching Bucky's wrist as Bucky sets down a tea tray on the dining table. He studies Bucky like a bug pinned to a board, and then his eyes light, an unpleasant smile creeping across his face. "_Oh._ Do you remember me, James Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes widen. He shakes his head.

"I feel I should be insulted, but I will forgive you for the oversight given the circumstances," says Zola, tilting his head. "It was here in this house that I fixed your arm. It was in danger of falling off after that dreadful attack on your caravan." He tugs Bucky's wrist hard, and Bucky unbalances and falls to his knees. The impact rattles the tea tray. Zola paws at the collar of Bucky's tunic, exposing his collarbone and shoulder, then clicks his tongue impatiently. "Come now. Take your shirt off. I'd like to note how well it recovered."

Bucky darts a quick glance at Lord Pierce, who raises his eyebrows and gives Bucky an expectant look.

Bucky closes his eyes, a flush rising to his skin. He lifts the hem of his tunic—the holes remain—and then pulls off the fabric quickly, shivering as the cold air hits his chest. He can't help but grimace as Zola's clammy fingers poke and prod at the knot of scar tissue on his shoulder and forearm, then trail down the long scars on Bucky's left arm and hand in a mockery of a tender touch.

At least the scars don't hurt very much anymore. They just tend to ache in the cold. Bucky's lucky he can even still use his arm. The arrow had pierced it clean through, and then the knives...Bucky hates to admit it, but Zola did a good job.

Bucky opens his eyes when Zola pushes him away dismissively. He quickly moves to put the tunic back on, but Lord Pierce says, "Leave it, omega. You'll need to get used to being exposed."

Bucky sucks in a shallow breath and slowly drops his tunic to the floor, his skin crawling.

"There are pigments that will cover up the lesser damage," Zola tells Lord Pierce, ignoring Bucky completely now. "And your request for a particular tunic and glove can be fulfilled; I can make one with a sleeve that will both fit and look like skin."

"Very good," says Lord Pierce. "When can we expect those to be delivered?"

"The heat potion we discussed earlier is ready. I can bring that tomorrow. The tunic, glove, and pigments will require more preparation. I suspect they will be ready two weeks hence."

Lord Pierce frowns.

Zola gives Bucky a long, considering look. "If I may, Lord Pierce," says Zola, "There may be alphas with…certain proclivities who would be interested in taking the omega as he is now."

Lord Pierce gets a gleam in his eye, and he leans forward, taking a sip of tea. "How interesting, Doctor Zola. Do tell."

Zola glances at Bucky furtively, and Lord Pierce clears his throat. "Omega, you're dismissed."

Bucky flees to the kitchen, the one place he's most likely to be left alone. It's cold with a spring chill, so he starts a fire in the oven and huddles next to it, heedless of the ash sprinkling his skin. He's trembling all over, from the latest degradation of losing his tunic and from the possibility of something worse. He doesn't want to imagine some hulking, nameless alpha seeing him like this, prodding at his scars with glee, taking him while he's out of his mind with heat. He doesn't want to think about wearing a false skin while an endless succession of alphas knots him senseless, until all he knows is sweat and slick and seed.

Nausea rises within him, and he stumbles outside to the courtyard, retching. Nothing comes up but bile. He hasn't been able to eat much this week.

"Um…hello?"

Bucky jumps, wrapping his arms around himself and looking around wildly. He's in the little courtyard on the west side of the estate. No one should be able to see him unless they're looking down from the house windows.

"Over here," says the voice, and Bucky creeps closer to the tall hedge separating the courtyard from the alley. "My name is Clint," says the voice. "I'm looking for the estate of Lord Alexander Pierce?"

"You're in the correct place," Bucky answers. Even his voice is shaky.

"I…am?" Clint sounds doubtful. "Where's the front door, then?"

"You need to walk around the side," says Bucky. "Which way are you facing?"

"Um…" There's a shuffling noise, and a sound of a horse snorting. "West?"

Bucky sighs, pulling on an old memory and hoping it's still correct. "Keep heading west, and then turn left once you get to an intersection. You'll see the path leading up to the door. It's large. You can't miss it."

"All right," says Clint, sounding decidedly more cheerful. "Hey, what's your name? Can I ask for you? You're very helpful."

Bucky tenses. "I'm…just a servant," he mumbles.

"What?"

Bucky clears his throat. "We'll expect you soon, then?"

"Oh," says Clint. "Yeah, all right. Five minutes."

Bucky ducks back into the kitchen, his heart racing. It's Sir Brock's responsibility to answer the door; Lord Pierce doesn't like Bucky being the first thing guests see. Bucky hopes that Lord Pierce won't expect him to serve Clint in this indecent state.

Fortunately, all Clint does is deliver a message from the palace and then leave. Crown Prince Steven has just finished his post as Captain of the Guard at the Triskelion fortress. He's returned to the capital and is hosting a ball in three days' time, and all the nobility and gentry are invited, including Lord Pierce, Sir Brock, and Sir Jack. Before the attack, Bucky would have received an invitation as lord of the Barnes estate, but of course, he doesn't get one now.

Bucky thinks of his own friend Steve with a pang of longing. Steve would never have become a prince or held a title of any sort, and he's dead, but it still hurts to hear such a similar name.

"The rumor, of course, is that Prince Steven is meant to choose a mate at the ball," Lord Pierce says at dinner that night. He hums thoughtfully. "I wonder if this is an opportunity for us to regain our fortune even more quickly than before."

"My lord?" Sir Brock questions cautiously.

"The omega," says Lord Pierce, brushing a hand through Bucky's hair. "If we can use him to lure Prince Steven—perhaps get the Prince to knot him and conceive a child—well, the Prince will be honor-bound to take care of his own pup, even if it's a bastard. We'll have access to one of the highest stations in the land."

Bucky gasps. Lord Pierce's grip on his hair tightens, and Bucky flinches.

"Something to say, omega?"

"No, my lord," Bucky whispers, shivering. Lord Pierce still hasn't given him back his tunic, and the air is cold on his bare chest. He feels horribly exposed—even more so now that Lord Pierce has made his suggestion.

"Taking an omega in heat to a ball would be frowned upon," says Sir Jack, sounding wary.

Lord Pierce laughs. "Naturally the omega wouldn't be in heat when he first arrives. He'd simply need to take the potion and go into heat once he and the Prince are alone. The Prince won't be able to resist the offer."

"My lord, what about our original plan?" asks Sir Brock. He sounds disappointed. "Are we not putting the omega into heat and inviting our friends to use him here?"

"Not if the Prince takes the omega first," says Lord Pierce, a note of warning in his tone. "Rest assured, Sir Brock, we will go back to the original plan if the one with the Prince fails."

Sir Brock corners Bucky in the kitchen that evening. "Don't count on the Prince saving you, omega," he snarls, his breath stinking of ale. He shoves at Bucky's scarred shoulder and forces him against the counter, pinching Bucky's exposed nipples and palming Bucky's crotch through his breeches. Bucky pushes him away, hard.

Sir Brock laughs as he stumbles backward. "You've got some bite, even if you never bark," he says, smirking. "I like that in a whore. I'm going to enjoy taking you when the time comes." He backs out of the room, and the door swings shut behind him loudly.

Bucky's breath hitches. He finishes cleaning the dishes with unsteady hands, then walks to his room and sinks down onto his pallet, burying his face in his knees. His tears soak through his breeches. It doesn't matter who takes him, in the end. What makes him ill is the fact that he _is_ going to be taken, inevitably, against his will—in heat, while he's not in control, while he has no way to stop it or say no. He could go to the ball and not drink Zola's potion, not lure the Prince into knotting and breeding him, but if the Prince doesn't take him, then Sir Brock and his "friends" will. That seems like the worse alternative, even if it doesn't include the risk of getting pregnant.

The next three days pass by in a miserable haze. Lord Pierce still makes Bucky walk around without his tunic in the name of training him to be used. Bucky doesn't have a spare, so he endures it with gritted teeth, especially when Sir Brock gropes him in passing and whispers his fantasies in Bucky's ear. Sir Jack, at least, mostly avoids Bucky's presence when he can. 

The evening of the ball, Lord Pierce calls Bucky into his bedroom and tells him to strip. Bucky freezes in terror, and Lord Pierce slaps Bucky across the face, looking down at his own fingers in disgust when he gets a palmful of ash and dust. "You're filthy," he proclaims, and he curls his fingers around Bucky's wrist and drags him to the tub in the adjoining room. "Clean yourself up thoroughly."

Once Pierce is out of sight, Bucky undresses with shaky hands and steps into the bath. The water is cold. He hastily scrubs his hair, face, and body with the scented herbal concoctions laid out on the side of the tub. They're similar to the ones he used before the attack, and Bucky gets wistful for a moment before returning to the task at hand. He spends extra time gently sponging the skin around his tight hole and his soft cock, trying not to think about what's going to happen tonight.

Bucky takes a deep breath as he wraps himself in a surprisingly soft towel and returns to the bedroom. Lord Pierce is sitting at the wooden desk near the fire, fully dressed and frowning over a letter. He looks up at Bucky with distaste.

"Put the towel down and bend over the desk."

Bucky swallows hard and does as he's told, keeping his eyes downcast. His vision blurs with tears as Lord Pierce spreads his cheeks with dry fingers and examines the sensitive skin inside, pressing the tip of his finger into Bucky's entrance.

"You did well, omega," says Lord Pierce as he withdraws, and he squeezes Bucky's ass. "You may dress." He gestures toward the open wardrobe, where an elegant outfit is laid out: a black undertunic and white braies, black hose, an azure blue cotehardie whose shade matches Bucky's eye color, a silver waist belt with a jeweled buckle bearing Lord Pierce's coat of arms (a statant, seven-headed hydra), and a cloak with Lord Pierce's heraldic colors (red, black, and silver). Next to the bed sit a pair of black boots, polished to a shine. On the adjacent dresser sits a pair of black leather gloves and a coronet with small sparkling sapphires.

Bucky hardly recognizes himself when he looks in the mirror. He doesn't look exactly like he used to—he's older now, with lines on his face and haunted eyes—and he never kept his hair this length when he was still a noble. Still, he admits, he makes a handsome omega, especially with the clothes highlighting his frame. He has a little more muscle than most omegas, but he has a fine-boned facial structure, with sharp cheekbones and a nicely cut jaw.

"When the heat comes and the Prince takes you, you will only remove your belt and then lower your hose and braies to allow him entrance," says Lord Pierce, drawing Bucky's attention back to the desk. "You will not uncover your torso or remove your gloves or show him any of the scarring. Have him knot you and spill his seed in you, and then keep him there until his knot goes down. Afterward, you will use this plug"—he holds up a long wooden phallus with a flared base—"to ensure his seed remains inside so that you catch with child. Do not let him see you put it in. Do you understand, omega?"

"Yes, my lord," Bucky says softly, blinking back tears.

Lord Pierce tucks the phallus into a small leather pouch, along with a vial of glittering green liquid. "Your heat potion," he says. "You'll take it when you and the Prince are alone. Sir Jack, Sir Brock, and I will assist you in leading the Prince away from the ball."

Bucky attaches the pouch to his belt, his fingers trembling.

Sir Brock whistles when Bucky climbs into the carriage across from him. "You're looking like a tasty piece of meat," he says, smirking and jostling Sir Jack with his elbow. "Don't you agree, Jack?"

"Cleaned up well," Sir Jack says with a shrug. "Maybe the Prince will look at you after all."

"We'll make sure of it," says Lord Pierce, settling in next to Sir Brock. "Omega, we'll be introducing you tonight as James Pierce, my nephew. Keep your mouth shut and let us do the talking—not that that should be difficult for you. If the Prince asks you anything, simply transfer his attention to your other attributes. I doubt you'll have much time to converse once you're alone."

Bucky stares at his lap throughout the ride, Sir Brock's leering gaze settling heavily like a collar on the back of his neck. The hydra on his belt buckle and the colors of his cloak remind Bucky that he's just another piece of Lord Pierce's property.

The thought stays with him, weighing down his steps as Lord Pierce escorts him into the palace and hooks their elbows together like they're equals. Bucky keeps his eyes on the elegantly patterned floor. He went to the palace once as a small child, to a ball celebrating a victory against a neighboring kingdom, and he'd been amazed by the grandeur of both its interior and exterior. Now, he can't even bring himself to look up.

When they reach the great hall and the herald announces the arrival of Lord Alexander Pierce, Alpha, and his nephew James Pierce, omega, Bucky flinches hard. Lord Pierce's grip tightens, and Bucky lets himself go limp in resignation.

Lord Pierce drags Bucky around, smiling and chatting with the other guests, and Sir Brock and Sir Jack follow the pair like guards while engaging in their own small conversations. Sir Jack politely declines a dance from a countess, while Sir Brock jokes about the Prince's preference for sparring defensively with a shield instead of striking first. Lord Pierce discusses strategies for rooting out spies from neighboring kingdoms with other members of the royal security council.

Bucky lets the words drift over him, focusing on keeping his breathing and his heartbeat steady as he tries to keep his nausea at bay. Everything feels like an assault on his senses: the pitches of the voices around him, the smell of wine and ale and meat pies, the press of stone against the soles of his boots, the lights of the torches placed along the walls, the tart of the grape that Lord Pierce feeds him with a condescending smile. He wishes so badly that he could run and hide in a dark corner, away from everyone and everything,

A sudden silence falls in the hall as if someone heard Bucky's wish. The herald clears his throat and announces, into the sudden silence, "Queen Margaret Carter, Alpha, and Crown Prince Steven Grant, Alpha, accompanied by the Royal Guard."

Bucky bows along with the crowd.

He dares to lift his head when everyone else does and watches Queen Margaret settle onto her throne. She has sharp brown eyes that survey the hall, brown curly hair with a hint of silver held in an elegant braided knot behind her head, and an intricately carved crown beset with rubies that match the color of her red and gold gown. One of the guards, a woman with a deceivingly slight frame and shockingly red hair, takes position at her side in between the two thrones. Two other guards flank the sides—a dark-skinned man whose long sword has a falcon head as its pommel, and a brunette woman with two knives in her belt.

Bucky's eyes move reluctantly to Prince Steven, and his heart stops in his chest.

Sitting straight-backed on the second throne, bedecked in gold and white and blue, with a body twice as large as the one Bucky remembers, is Steven Grant Rogers, Bucky's best friend from childhood, smiling genially and very much alive.


	2. Chapter 2

It's obvious when Steve spots Bucky in the crowd. The smile drops from his face, and so does the color as his eyes widen in disbelief. He half-lifts out of his chair as if he means to run straight to Bucky. Then Queen Margaret shoots him a sharp look, and he sits back down, still looking stunned.

"It seems the Prince has already taken an interest in you," murmurs Lord Pierce, amused. "Well done, omega."

Bucky averts his gaze, heat rising in his cheeks. His heart is pounding like it wants to beat out of his chest, and there's a dim roaring in his ears. "Please," he gasps, "please, my lord, may I be excused?"

Pierce's grip becomes tight enough to bruise. "You'll be excused when you've completed your duty. Now calm yourself. The Prince is coming, and you stink of fear."

Bucky takes deep, shuddering breaths, sweat soaking through his undertunic. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve trying to approach. The other guests waylay Steve often, and although he stops politely to talk with them, he doesn't change course. Finally, a clear path appears, and Steve takes it, striding toward Bucky with singular focus.

Bucky feels like he might faint when Steve's boots appear in his eyeline.

"Lord Pierce," says Steve, "A pleasure to see you again. This must be your nephew?"

"It is an honor, Your Highness, as always," says Lord Pierce with a dip of his head. "This is James. James, please"—Pierce's voice takes on a warning tone—"show some respect to the Prince."

Bucky swallows his bile and slowly meets Steve's concerned gaze. "Your Highness," he croaks, bowing his head.

"Are you well, James?" asks Steve, searching Bucky's face.

Lord Pierce gives a small, cold laugh. "I thank you for your concern, Your Highness. My nephew is quite well. He's merely nervous about meeting you."

"Perhaps it would be helpful to get some air," says Steve, reluctantly turning his attention to Lord Pierce. "With your permission, Lord Pierce, I would like to escort James to a particular area of the garden. I designed it with plants whose scents are meant to soothe—knowledge I learned from my mother, who trained in the healing arts."

"I believe I should let James make this choice," says Lord Pierce, untangling his arm from Bucky's. "What do you say, James?"

Bucky stares at Steve's boots. They're a good black leather, polished to a shine, far fancier than anything Steve could have afforded in Brooklyn. His voice cracks as he answers. "Yes, Your Highness. I would—appreciate it."

"If you were any other man, I would not send James off alone," says Lord Pierce, his voice colored with the slightest undercurrent of concern.

Steve goes still. "I will not and would never impugn James' honor. I am a virtuous man." Bucky can see the clench and lift of Steve's jaw, even though he's not even looking at his face. Steve continues, "I shall also escort him back to the hall once he is ready. No one will disturb James without answering to me first."

"I feel much assured, Your Highness," says Lord Pierce, and he bows, stepping aside. "Thank you."

Steve places a gentle hand on the small of Bucky's back and guides him through the hall. The stares of the other guests burn the back of Bucky's neck as the crowd parts with hushed whispers.

Steve lets out a long, relieved sigh when the door to the hall shuts behind them. They wind through a series of stone corridors, passing a number of guards stationed at various corners, until they finally reach a set of wooden doors carved with two eagles facing each other. Steve nods at the guards and pushes the doors open.

The fragrant fresh air is a shock to Bucky's senses. Steve steers him to a secluded alcove with stone benches surrounded by tall sprigs of lavender, then sits down beside him with a heavy sigh. A full moon hangs over their head, illuminating Steve's face with a ghostly light.

He could be a ghost, Bucky thinks wildly, and he chokes on a laugh.

Steve makes an aborted movement with his hand, then sits up straight, his spine a stiff line. "James," he says, "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes," Bucky says, and he almost forgets to add, "Your Highness."

"Are you…" Steve takes a deep breath, then lets it out with a huff. "I—forgive me. It's difficult to find the words I wish to speak. It's just that—you bear such a strong resemblance to my childhood friend, James Barnes. I called him Bucky. He—his father was Lord of Brooklyn, and he would have been too, if…if he hadn't died of his injuries in a bandit attack. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Bucky's voice catches in his throat. "I…I don't know, Your Highness," he mumbles, and his heart sinks at the disappointment on Steve's face. He heaves a breath, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

"B—James?" Steve asks in alarm. "Are you ill?"

Bucky shakes his head, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

"Please," says Steve, and he takes hold of Bucky's gloved left hand, running a soothing thumb along Bucky's knuckles. "How can I help you?"

Bucky's breath hitches. "I'm sorry," he whimpers, and without warning, the dam breaks: six years' worth of loneliness, grief, and despair wash over him in full, and he sobs loudly, salt and snot running down his face, dripping onto his tunic and hose. Steve shifts and presses a silk handkerchief into his hand, and Bucky wipes his face, mortified. The tears won't stop coming.

Steve waits patiently, gently rubbing Bucky's back and making soothing noises until Bucky can finally speak again.

Bucky tries to make an excuse, but his voice sounds weak and unconvincing to his own ears. "Please forgive me. I—I don't know what came over me."

"James," says Steve firmly. "Please tell me what's wrong."

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at Steve's face. His eyes are big and earnest, and he has a pleading expression that Bucky has never been able to resist. It feels like a knife wound to the chest; he never thought he'd see Steve alive again, much less strong and healthy and prince of an entire kingdom. Bucky clears his throat and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of lavender, and then he says, haltingly, "I—your…your observation is correct. I am James Barnes. I didn't die in the bandit attack, and—it seems neither did you."

Steve's mouth parts. He looks like he's been lanced in the chest. "Bucky," he gasps, and he looks half-afraid, half-hopeful. "Is it really you?"

"Yes," says Bucky, a lump in his throat, "It's me, Steve."

Steve's eyes glimmer with tears, and he lets out a choked sob, turning away for a moment to get himself under control. "I missed you," he whispers, and he gives Bucky a watery smile. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were smaller," Bucky says with a weak smile. "What happened to you?"

"Oh," says Steve, looking embarrassed. "I joined the army. And, um, soon after that, I started showing signs of an Alpha rut, but my body was having trouble, um…completing the cycle. Doctor Erskine, the physician at the army camp, said that my body had been dormant too long because I'd needed time to recover from my injuries from the attack. He gave me a potion to trigger the rut, and—well, it did more than just that. It turned me into…this. An ideal Alpha. Got rid of my scars, my illnesses—everything."

"How?" Bucky whispers.

Steve shakes his head ruefully. "Doctor Erskine couldn't explain it, said I must have a little bit of fae blood in me. Ma always used to tell stories about the faerie, remember, from the old lands? It's as good a theory as any."

Bucky notes that Steve's voice has lost its formal cadence and taken on some of the rougher edges from their childhood. "Did it hurt?" he asks Steve with a frown.

“A little,” Steve shrugs.

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Steve grins at him, bright and unfettered.

Bucky's heart aches at the sight. He asks, hesitantly, "How did you survive the attack? The bandits shot you right through the heart. I saw it happen."

Steve looks down, biting his lip. "I don't know," he admits. "I felt the arrow pierce my chest, and"—he blows out a long breath—"next thing I knew, I was in the palace with Queen Margaret herself tending to me. She told me she and her guard found me on the side of the road during a ride and brought me here straightaway."

"Are…are the others—"

Steve shakes his head, sorrow in his eyes. "Dead, all of them. Queen Margaret helped me bury them." His voice catches. "As soon as I was able, I—I looked for you, and when I couldn't find you, I wrote to the estate. Lord Pierce, he—he wrote back saying he'd brought you back home, but that you'd died from your injuries, and that _he_ was Lord of Brooklyn now."

Steve's hand clenches into a fist. "I joined the army after that, and I adopted a different name. In my grief, I thought it would be easier to forget the past and become a new person, especially after the transformation of my body. If I'd known you were alive, I…" Steve swipes a hand across his eyes, bowing his head. "Forgive me, Bucky. I never meant to abandon you."

"There's nothing to forgive, Steve," says Bucky. Anger simmers low in his chest. "Lord Pierce lied to you, and he lied to me, too." _No one wants you_, Lord Pierce said, the day Bucky tried to escape. _No one is looking for you. You're worth nothing to any of us without your title or your riches._ How many other letters had Lord Pierce written, spreading the falsehood that Bucky was dead in the ground?

"Bucky," says Steve with a troubled expression, "Have you been ill-treated all these years? When you were with Lord Pierce in the great hall, you…you were terrified, Buck."

Bucky looks away. His eyes catch on the leather pouch holding the vile potion and plug, and his cheeks flush with shame. With shaking hands, he unclasps the pouch and holds it out to Steve.

Steve takes it with a puzzled frown.

"Open it," says Bucky.

Bucky can't bear to look at Steve's face, but he hears Steve's loud, horrified gasp in the darkness. "Bucky, what are these?"

Bucky swallows, closing his eyes. "Lord Pierce…he ordered me to—to seduce you tonight. The potion induces my heat, and the plug, it…" Bucky can't bring himself to say the words. "Lord Pierce wanted you to breed me with child so that you'd be obligated to…to support me. He was going to use the money you sent to pay off the debts of the household."

Steve makes a small, hurt noise.

"I…I don't want to," Bucky admits, curling in on himself. "Please, Steve, I—" He shudders.

"Bucky," says Steve, squeezing Bucky's hand. "I won't force you into anything."

Bucky flinches. "I—I don't want to do this, but…the alternative is worse."

"What do you mean?"

"If I don't succeed tonight, Pierce, he…he's going to…lend me out to his friends pay his debts." It's the politest way Bucky can think of to phrase it. "He's going to make me take the potion and go into heat and…let them…"

"No," Steve protests, shocked. "He _can't_. That's…"

"He can," says Bucky, wretched. "He owns me. He may have dressed me up tonight and told everyone that I'm his nephew, but in reality I'm just his omega slave."

Steve inhales sharply, and his hands clench into fists. "Bucky, I'm going to help you. I'm going to _fix_ this. I'll throw Pierce and his two lackeys into the dungeon right now, restore your name and your title—"

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, not even sure what he's going to say—

And that's when the pain hits.

Bucky doubles over as his belly contracts, falling to the ground and clawing at the grass. He wants to scream as the pain radiates throughout his body, but all he can manage is a whimper. For a moment he thinks he's been shot; but then he feels a trickle down his leg, and he understands—"No, _no_—"

"Bucky! Bucky—" Steve's hovering over him, panicked, his hands fluttering like he can't figure out where to put them. "Bucky, please, let me help—" He palms Bucky's forehead, his touch like a brand, and Bucky moans, his traitorous body producing slick in response. Steve freezes as he catches the scent, realization dawning in his eyes. "You're in heat," he whispers, and he swings his head wildly toward the vial sitting on the bench. "But—"

Bucky groans, choking on a hysterical laugh as he stares up at the moon. "'S my natural heat," he pants. "Pierce usually…gives me a p-potion…agh!" Bucky hisses as his belly contracts, and though his words fail him, his thoughts are stark and clear: Pierce must have realized this might happen, maybe even planned it, because of course he knew Bucky would be too distracted to even think of asking for his monthly potion, of course he knew the date Bucky's heat would fall and how it was all the more likely with the full moon. Bucky never had a choice in this matter. Zola's potion had merely been a backup plan—or a ploy to humiliate Bucky further.

"We have to get you inside," says Steve urgently, kneeling next to Bucky. "Bucky, can I carry you? Is that all right?"

Bucky nods.

Steve scoops Bucky up from the ground with startling ease and kicks open the door. "Please summon Dr. Banner and Lieutenant Romanov and tell them to come to my solar at once," he tells the guards, and one of them nods and sets off running.

"Your solar," gasps Bucky, huffing a laugh to distract himself from the humiliating damp patch spreading on his hose. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, soaking into his tunic. "That should keep…Pierce off our tail for a while."

"You're right," says Steve, walking briskly through the corridors. The breeze brushes against Bucky's skin, and he shivers violently, too cold and too hot all at once. Steve turns sharply, revealing a corner with a long, narrow, spiraling staircase. Bucky's breaths dampen the air as Steve hurries up several levels until they finally emerge into a tiny alcove. Steve kicks open the grate, and suddenly they're in a luxurious, carpeted room with a huge bed topped with finely embroidered pillows and a beautiful red, white, and blue duvet patterned with stars.

Steve grunts and shifts Bucky's weight. He pulls back the covers, sending pillows tumbling to the floor, and then he lays Bucky down on the soft sheets. They smell like Steve, Bucky realizes, like leather and metal and scented oils, with the faintest hint of sweat, and blood rushes to Bucky's cock as he breathes in the heady scent. "Steve," Bucky moans, "I—_please_—"

Steve removes Bucky's coronet and sets it on the vanity nearby, then quickly unlaces Bucky's boots and pulls them off. "Try to get comfortable, Buck. I'll return as soon as I can." He strokes Bucky's sweaty hair back from his face, then crosses the room and shuts the door, leaving Bucky alone with the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

Bucky curls up in the bed, slick trickling down his leg in a steady stream, sharp jolts of pain wracking his body every few seconds. He realizes, with a distant sense of mortification, that he's dirtying the royal linens. Brock's voice echoes in his head unbidden: _Omega whore._ Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back and forth.

Seconds, minutes, perhaps even hours later, Steve opens the door, just long enough for Bucky to catch the sound of sharp, unfamiliar voices.

"—Pierce is dangerous and won't leave without him—"

Bucky's heart jumps to his throat, and he curls in on himself defensively as Steve rushes to his side with a harried expression. The voice cuts off as the door shuts with a snap.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, Buck," says Steve, shrugging out of his cloak. He holds up a vial of clear red liquid, and when he takes out the stopper, the smell is like a slap to Bucky's face: it's the draught he took during his first heat, Sarah Rogers' homebrew to relieve heat cramps, and for a moment he's seventeen again, tucked into a nest made of comfortable, familiar things, with Steve just a hare's breath away.

Then the moment passes, and Bucky feels cold all over despite the fire burning in his blood.

Steve deserves better than this. He deserves an omega who will give themself to him freely, who will bear him many healthy and beautiful children, who will form a long-lasting alliance through marriage. Bucky can't give him any of that.

"Bucky," says Steve in alarm when Bucky tries to swing his legs off the bed and ends up flailing wildly. Steve gently pushes Bucky back onto the sheets. "Come on, let's get this draught into you so you feel better."

Bucky lets Steve tip the potion down his throat, and then he sinks down into the mattress, a pleasant, warm haze washing over him as the pain of the heat dissipates. "It's still hot," he mumbles, and he unclasps the heavy cloak weighing on his shoulders. Steve nods, freeing the cloak from where it's trapped underneath Bucky's body. Bucky shifts and grimaces as the cotehardie sleeves tighten against his elbows. He hastily shrugs out of that, too, and Steve takes it, setting it somewhere nearby before returning to Bucky's side.

The firelight casts Steve in gold, transforming his crown into an angel's halo. Bucky's breath catches in his throat at the beauty of it, and longing jolts within him. "Steve," he whispers, reaching out.

Steve takes it and leans forward. "Buck," he says, his voice soft, "What can I do?"

Bucky inhales Steve's scent, noting the faint undercurrent of musky dark arousal. "Steve," he whispers, a faint curl of shame settling on his tongue, "Please. Please. I want…I need…touch me, please, Steve. Knot me."

Steve makes a small, surprised noise. "Bucky, are you sure? There are other ways—I could close the curtains on the bed so you can nest, give you some privacy—I'll guard the door myself—"

Bucky blinks back the tears that spring to his eyes. "No. Please, I—" The confession comes out before he can swallow it down. "I don't want to be alone. And I don't want to do this with anyone but you. Especially not the first time."

Steve goes very still.

Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and turns his face away, cheeks flushing.

"Bucky," says Steve, his voice quiet. The mattress dips with his weight. He's holding a vial of amber liquid. "To stop you from catching with child," he explains, taking out the stopper, and Bucky's heart jolts with a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment. Steve continues, "No matter what happens, I'll take care of you, and I'll take care of my child. I won't make you take this. But—I brought it in case you wanted it. When we talked in the garden, you…you didn't seem like you were ready to be a father."

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath, mind running through the possibilities. Then he meets Steve's eyes and reaches for the potion, swallowing it in one gulp.

Steve sets aside the vial. Then, slowly, tenderly, he cups Bucky's face in his hands, stroking along Bucky's jaw before placing a chaste kiss on Bucky's lips.

Fire ignites in Bucky's belly, and his need suddenly surfaces from where it's been lingering in the background. He clutches Steve's waist, marveling at the hard bulk he can feel beneath the silk, and then he surges upward and kisses Steve back, messy and heated. Steve sucks in a short, surprised breath, and then opens the kiss, scraping his teeth along Bucky's bottom lip and soothing the sting with a lick. Bucky moans, gasping and shivering with pleasure as Steve claims his mouth with his tongue.

Steve presses Bucky into the mattress, chest heaving as he pauses to breathe. His face is flushed, his hair mussed. "Was that all right?" he asks Bucky.

Bucky nods and reaches up, tracing the line of Steve's muscles from his shoulder down to his wrist.

Steve blushes, looking a little shy. "I know it's…different than before. Do you—do you want to see?"

A little thrill runs through Bucky. "Yes," he whispers.

Red crawls up Steve's cheeks. He stands and removes his mantle and his crown, carefully placing them on a nearby table. Then he climbs back onto the bed. Taking a deep breath, he undoes the laces along his waist and collarbone, and then divests himself of the tunic in one swift motion.

Bucky's mouth waters at the expanse of golden skin in front of him. He lifts his hands, eager to map it out, and then pauses as he realizes he's still wearing his gloves.

"Bucky?" Steve asks, nervous.

Bucky swallows hard. "I want to touch you."

"I want that too," says Steve, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against Bucky's lips.

"My left…hand," says Bucky, censoring himself at the last minute, "it—it has scars. From the attack."

"Oh," says Steve, stroking Bucky's cheek. "You don't have to show me, but I won't mind if you do."

Bucky's heart skips a beat. Pierce's warning rings loudly in his mind.

"Bucky," says Steve, "It's all right."

Bucky looks at Steve, breath catching in his chest. Then, before he can think too much, he pulls off both his gloves. Driven by a sudden recklessness, he pulls off his tunic too, so that he and Steve are both bare from the waist up. 

Steve's eyes land on Bucky's chest, and a stricken look crosses his face.

It feels like a bucket of freezing water getting dumped on Bucky's head. Bucky scrambles upward, trying to cover himself, but it's too late: Steve's seen the scars already, the mangled remains of Bucky's left arm and shoulder, and now—

"Bucky?" Steve looks so sad, and he smells it too, bitter, pungent guilt overtaking the leather and musk. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I was just surprised."

"You don't have to lie," says Bucky, cheeks flushing in shame. "I know they're ugly."

"No, they're not. No part of you could ever be ugly to me." He takes Bucky's left hand, brushing his thumb over Bucky's knuckles. "Do they hurt?"

Bucky shakes his head. "They get sore in the cold, or when I've been using my left arm too much."

Steve nods and lifts Bucky's hand, kissing Bucky's palm. Heat rushes through Bucky's blood again, and he reaches up with his free hand, skimming his fingers across Steve's chest and belly. Steve groans and presses into the touch, and Bucky, emboldened, places his palm flat against Steve's pec, thumbing Steve's nipple curiously.

Steve's mouth parts, and he lets out a little gasp, the musky scent of his arousal growing stronger. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see the outline of Steve's hard cock, and his soaked hose dampens with another wave of slick as his own cock perks up with interest.

Steve drops onto the bed, lying on one side and bracing his weight with one hand. He leans over and kisses Bucky messily, cupping Bucky's jaw, moaning into Bucky's mouth as Bucky explores Steve's broad chest, circling Steve's nipples with teasing fingers.

"Buck," Steve whispers, hips jerking, his cock pressing against Bucky's thigh. He kisses Bucky's cheek, then Bucky's jaw, and then he lets out a small groan, inhaling deeply when he reaches the join between Bucky's neck and shoulder. "You smell good, Bucky. You smell like _you_." He nuzzles and mouths at the skin like he wants to bite down.

"Steve, we can't," Bucky warns.

Steve breathes in deep, then reluctantly lifts his head and pushes his hair back from his face. "I'm sorry."

Bucky swallows. He wants to, if he's being honest with himself. But he can't—he won't do that to Steve. Not like this, with Pierce's scheme hanging over their heads.

He tilts his head up and kisses Steve's jaw to soften the blow, smiling when Steve sighs and relaxes. Bucky grasps Steve's shoulders and gently maneuvers him so that Steve's lying flat on his back. Then, he swings himself upward, straddling Steve in one quick motion and balancing his weight on his hands and knees.

"Bucky," says Steve in a hoarse voice. He hesitantly places his hands on Bucky's back, and Bucky cautiously drops his hips so that their cocks are pressing together through their hose. Steve groans into Bucky's ear, grip tightening as his hips jerk upward. His belt clinks against Bucky's, and Steve reaches down with quick, nimble fingers to undo them both, throwing them to the side. They hit the floor with a startling crash.

Steve smiles sheepishly. "Sorry."

Bucky huffs a laugh and presses his groin harder against Steve's, delighting in the way Steve's mouth goes slack with pleasure.

"Bucky," Steve pants, sliding his hands down and plucking at the loose top of Bucky's hose. "May I?"

"Yes," says Bucky, skating his hand down Steve's belly. Steve lifts his hips obligingly, and Bucky rolls down his hose as Steve peels off Bucky's. After a few seconds of fumbling, their braies follow suit, and then they're both naked, staring at each other with wide eyes.

A line of blonde hair travels from Steve's chest down to his groin. Bucky follows it with his gaze, his mouth dry as he drinks in the sight of Steve's large cock. Bucky's hole clenches with the need to be filled, and he straddles Steve again, keeping his gaze locked with Steve's as he takes Steve's hand and moves it to his ass. "Please," he says, watching Steve's eyes darken.

Steve carefully probes at Bucky's entrance, eyes widening at the feel of Bucky's slick. Bucky grips the sheets and lowers his hips, resting his forehead on Steve's chest and breathing in Steve's scent as Steve stretches him, finger by finger. Heat coils low in Bucky's belly and groin, and his cock fattens and twitches. Unconsciously, Bucky jerks his hips, seeking friction, and Steve lets out a startled yelp as their cocks rub together.

"Sorry," Bucky whispers. It's getting hard to hold still, and it becomes almost impossible when Steve curls his fingers inside Bucky's hole and brushes against a particular spot, making lightning spark through Bucky's body. "Steve," he whimpers, canting his ass backwards as copious amounts of slick leak down his thighs. "Please, Steve, please—"

Steve catches Bucky's lips in a kiss as he gently shifts Bucky's hips into position. He grasps his cock and presses the blunt tip of it to Bucky's swollen hole, then brushes Bucky's cheekbone with his thumb. "Ready?" he asks softly.

Bucky nods.

Steve takes a deep breath and guides Bucky's ass downward, inch by inch until Steve's sac is resting against Bucky's cheeks.

It's everything Bucky could have dreamed of, back when he first presented and fantasized about lying with an alpha. He feels stretched and full, but not uncomfortably so—it's a satisfying feeling, and it feels right, but more than that, it feels _good_. He holds still, reveling in the sensation, smiling at Steve, whose face is lit up with wonder.

Then Steve shifts his hips a little, hitting that magical spot, and Bucky moans and _moves_, bouncing up and down on Steve's cock as he chases the feeling. Steve gasps and bucks beneath him, cupping Bucky's ass with both hands as they find a rhythm. When they finally sync up, it's glorious, their pleasure raising to a higher and higher peak in the joined space of their bodies.

When Steve's knot starts to grow, Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky's cock and begins to stroke it. Bucky pants, dropping his head to Steve's shoulder, his toes curling as Steve's hand quickens. "Please, Steve," Bucky begs, breathless, as Steve's knot swells and catches on Bucky's rim. "Please, I'm going to—" His pleasure crests, and his vision whites out; Steve's knot locks them together, and then Steve's cock pulses inside of him, filling him with seed.

Steve moans, long and loud into Bucky's ear, and wraps his arms around Bucky tightly. He noses at Bucky's neck, peppering Bucky's skin with kisses as he slowly comes down from the high. "Bucky," he murmurs, squeezing tight, "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Steve," says Bucky, resting his head against Steve's shoulder. He feels warm, sated, peaceful; they're all unfamiliar feelings, and he can't help the happy tears that gather in the corners of his eyes.

Steve shifts them carefully so that they're both lying on their sides, flush up against each other. Bucky falls asleep knotted, curled in Steve's arms, sighing contentedly against Steve's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky wakes to someone stroking his hair. He hums and opens his eyes, lips curving into a slow smile as Steve murmurs, "Good morning."

It's dark; Steve must have closed the curtains around the bed some time during the night, making a small, intimate nest that smells of their mingled scents. A small ray of sunlight peeks through, lighting the bed just enough for Bucky to see Steve, who's propped up on one elbow and looking down at Bucky with a soft, tender smile.

"Good morning," Bucky whispers.

Steve leans in and kisses Bucky, soft and slow. Bucky snuggles deeper into the sheets as he responds in kind, daring to lick along Steve's bottom lip. Steve inhales sharply and presses closer, his cock hard against Bucky's own. They're both still naked, Bucky realizes with a little thrill. He cups the back of Steve's neck with one hand, pulling him closer, and Steve moans, dropping his weight on the mattress—

A sharp knock sounds on the door, startling them both. Steve stiffens and rolls off Bucky, sitting up and running a hand through his hair as he clears his throat. "Yes?"

"Your Highness," calls a nervous, high-pitched voice, "It's Peter. Her Majesty requests your presence and that of your companion's in the west dining room. She also requested that you both, ah, wash and dress prior to your visit. I've prepared a hot bath."

"Thank you, Peter," Steve answers firmly, his voice carrying across the room. "We will be ready shortly."

Steve sighs and gives Bucky a rueful look. "I'm sorry, Bucky. We need to go."

Bucky nods, reluctantly getting out of bed. Steve gives him an appreciative glance, and Bucky's face heats under the scrutiny. He tries to waggle his eyebrows at Steve in return, and Steve huffs a laugh, a blush traveling from his face all the way down to his feet. He leads Bucky into an adjoining alcove with a door on the opposite wall.

A bath is indeed waiting in a deep wooden tub. Steam rises from the surface of the water, and gratitude rushes through Bucky's blood: he hasn't had a warm bath since before the attack. In fact, Pierce only lets him wash twice a week, at most; the night of the ball was the longest Bucky had spent in the bath in six years.

The tub isn't big enough for them both, so they take it in turns. Steve insists that Bucky take the first, and Bucky acquiesces after only a perfunctory protest. He smiles as he sinks into the hot water, closing his eyes with a contented sigh as his sore muscles weep with joy. He startles when a warm washcloth brushes against the knot of scar tissue on his shoulder.

"I should be doing that for you," Bucky murmurs, blinking at Steve blearily. "Since you're the Pr…" His voice trails off at the tight look on Steve's face.

"I want to," says Steve with a beseeching look. "Please let me take care of you, Buck. It's the least I can do."

Bucky can hardly say no to that.

Steve washes Bucky with care, mixing in herbs whose fragrance brings Bucky back to the evening baths they'd shared as children. Under Sarah Rogers' watchful eye, they'd wash out the dirt and grit of the day and then try, as best they could, to clean any injuries they'd acquired from fighting with the other boys in town.

Most of the fights started when someone got the gumption to harass Steve, calling him a weak and useless runt, or a drain on the town's resources, or the bastard child of a witch. Steve mostly tried to hold his own then—and he got especially vicious when someone insulted his mother—but he was always outnumbered and overpowered, and often Bucky had to step in to break up or finish the fight. Sometimes all Bucky had to do was pull rank; no one wanted to get in trouble for hitting little lord Barnes.

How the tides have turned, with Steve the Alpha Prince of the kingdom, and Bucky—well, Bucky doesn't know what his status is now. A frisson of anxiety shoots through him, and his grip tightens on the sides of the tub.

"Bucky?" Steve frowns. "What's wrong?"

Bucky swallows nervously and licks his lips. "What…what's going to happen to me now?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Bucky blows out a breath. "I don't think L—um, Pierce is just going to let me go."

Steve's eyes flash with a familiar righteous anger. "I'm not going to let him take you back, Bucky. I'll fight him tooth and nail. I'll forbid it by royal decree if I have to."

Heat rises to Bucky's cheeks. "All right, Steve."

Steve huffs a little, reining in his temper. "I'm sure it won't come to that, but I'll make sure Pierce is brought to justice."

Bucky leans forward to kiss him. Steve sighs into Bucky's mouth, pulling back with obvious effort and clearing his throat. "My turn," he says, gesturing to the water, and Bucky nods and stands, flushing a little as Steve's gaze roves over his body.

He takes the towel Steve is holding out with a murmured "thank you" and dries himself off quickly, then kneels beside the tub to return the favor. He carefully wipes down Steve's skin, dotted with freckles from his training outdoors. Steve's palms are callused now from holding a sword and shield, and the bulk of his muscles is still unfamiliar, but his fingers are just as long and elegant as Bucky remembers. In his mind's eye, Bucky can see them wrapped around a stubby piece of charcoal, transferring the world around them onto a sheet of parchment.

The question escapes him unexpectedly: "Do you still draw?"

Steve blinks and laughs under his breath. "It's been years since anyone asked me that."

"Do you?" Bucky presses.

Steve looks down and bites his lip. "Not much. I…I tried for a few months after I recovered. But I kept dr—" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "It reminded me too much of everything I lost, so I stopped."

Bucky nods, his heart aching in sympathy. "Perhaps you'll return to it one day."

Steve gives him a small, grateful smile. "Perhaps soon, now that my muse has returned."

"Steve," says Bucky, face hot.

Steve's smile turns playful, and he darts forward, kissing Bucky on the cheek. "The water's getting cold. We'd better get dressed."

In the bedroom, Steve heads to the wardrobe and pulls on a blue tunic with silver and white stars, tan leather breeches, and a silver belt with a buckle in the shape of the royal eagle. When Bucky hesitates over his own soiled clothes, Steve gives him a spare set: a similar belt, linen braies, brown leather breeches that feel surprisingly soft, and a dark blue silk tunic with an eagle embroidered on either shoulder.

Bucky looks in the mirror, and a little jolt runs through him: the pair of them look so right together, standing side-by-side in matching colors and heraldry. Bucky's vision blurs, and he quickly palms a hand across his face as he blinks back his tears; beside him, Steve does the same.

"I'm glad to have you back, Bucky," says Steve, squeezing Bucky's hand.

"Same to you, Steve."

Steve leads Bucky to the dining room, twisting and turning through labyrinth-like corridors with confidence. When they reach a heavy wooden door, Steve seems to brace himself, straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath before rapping sharply on the door.

"Come in," says a woman's voice.

Steve opens the door and steps inside the room, meeting Queen Margaret's sharp gaze across a long dining table. She's dressed in a red gown and mantle, and her lips are painted red in color, contrasting sharply against her dark brown, silver-streaked hair. "Steven," she says, and her sharp brown eyes drift to Bucky. "And James. Please come in and shut the door behind you."

"Your Majesty," says Bucky, bowing. He wonders if he should kneel.

Queen Margaret's laugh is warm. "There's no need for that, dear. Please, call me Peggy, and take a seat. You too, Steven."

Steve takes the seat next to the Queen—Peggy—on one long end of the table. After a moment of hesitation, Bucky takes a seat on the opposite side.

Peggy looks past Bucky's head and nods. Two servants comes and place plates piled high with sausages, mushrooms, fried eggs, tomatoes, and toasted bread in front of Steve and Bucky. Another doles out a set of cutlery and fills their goblets with wines.

"Thank you," Bucky murmurs to the servants, his stomach growling.

The servant closest to him nods at him with a smile before leaving.

Bucky follows Steve's lead and starts on the hot food, unable to shake off the way his skin prickles from sitting at an actual table. The knife and fork feel awkward in his hands after years of being hand fed, and he flushes in embarrassment as he fumbles to use them. Thankfully, after a few minutes, his muscle memory returns, and he's able to clean his plate without incident.

Peggy waits until both men have finished eating to address the elephant in the room. "Well," she starts, taking a sip of wine, "I suppose congratulations are in order. You're both the talk of the kingdom after disappearing from the ball together."

Steve blushes bright red, but he lifts his chin stubbornly. "I don't regret any decisions I made last night."

"I wouldn't expect you to," says Peggy, raising her eyebrows. "You did what you thought was best. I personally think you made the right decision as well."

Steve sits back, startled.

"Of course, not everyone agrees. Alexander Pierce and his retainers, Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins"—Bucky flinches, and Peggy's expression flickers—"they kicked up quite a fuss. In fact, they accepted our generous offer to stay overnight so that they could ensure James' safe return to Brooklyn this morning."

Steve's expression goes tight. "I won't let them do that."

"And nor will I," says Peggy. "Do not worry, Steven. Natasha relayed what you said." She lays a gentle hand on Bucky's wrist. "I do, however, need to hear James' account of the events."

Bucky looks up anxiously. The food he just ate sits like a heavy stone in his stomach. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I don't understand," he croaks, "What events?"

Peggy flicks a glance at Steve, and Steve sits up straight, meeting Bucky's eyes. "I asked Natasha, my second-in-command, to talk to Peggy and figure out a way to detain Pierce and the other two men you came with. When she asked why, I told her that you were James Barnes, my best friend, rightful Lord of Brooklyn, and that Pierce had imprisoned and enslaved you in your own home after the bandit attack."

Bucky flinches hard, and Steve's face crumples. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to betray your confidence, Bucky, but I couldn't let Pierce and his cronies get away."

"No, it's—it's fine," says Bucky, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

Peggy pats his wrist. "I'd like to hear the story from you, James, starting with the day of the bandit attack. Take your time."

Bucky takes a few sips of wine to collect himself, and then he begins to recount his life of the past six years.

The Royal Guard arrests Pierce, Brock, and Jack that night, taking them from their guest rooms down to the dungeons. The following morning, the Queen holds a private court with Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and the new Captain of the Guard, Sam Wilson. She brings Pierce, Brock, and Jack into the throne room, strips them of any title and wealth, and exiles each of them to different neighboring kingdoms under heavy guard. She also writes to the rulers of the kingdoms to warn them of their arrivals.

The following week, Doctor Arnim Zola and a town scribe named Jasper Sitwell, who originated the plan to induce Bucky's heat and whore him out to alphas visiting the estate, spend separate nights in the dungeons before being sent to work camps in the countryside. Bucky isn't present for their sentencing; he's at the estate handling affairs as its newly restored lord, trying to repair it with the aid of Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, a pair of beta twins who agreed to transfer positions from the Palace to the estate as a favor to Steve. Wanda's lover Victor Shade, a beta known as Vision, joins them a few days later after completing his apprenticeship with court inventor Tony Stark.

Steve visits Bucky two weeks into the restoration, lending his considerable strength to unsealing the secret passageways and the wings Pierce hadn't wanted anyone to get into. Bucky finds all the Barnes family heirlooms locked up in the east wing along with the entire contents of the library. Everything is covered with a thick layer of dust, making Bucky worry about irreparable damage. Fortunately, Wanda, Pietro, and Vision put their heads together and work some kind of magic that preserves all of the books and other treasures.

A formal courtship begins between Bucky and Steve once Bucky settles into his role as Lord of Brooklyn. It culminates two years later in a marriage attended by most of the kingdom, and the subsequent bonding is in the same place where Steve and Bucky first rediscovered each other's bodies: in Steve's royal bed. Both are in full control of their faculties when they seal their love with mating bites on one each other's necks.

The following month, Bucky's heat syncs with Steve's rut, and Steve knots Bucky in Bucky's reclaimed bed at the estate. Bucky catches with child, much to his and Steve's mutual delight, but to everyone's surprise, he doesn't move into the palace immediately; instead, he stays in Brooklyn and continues to run his affairs. Steve visits every day and stays over almost every night, tenderly massaging Bucky's aching muscles and delivering pain draughts he made himself with the aid of his mother's old journal.

Bucky agrees to stay at the palace the week before he's due to deliver. Steve brings a royal carriage, and Bucky grips Steve's hand tightly as he climbs into it, wistfully looking out at his home as it disappears into the distance.

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "We'll be back," he murmurs, placing a careful hand on Bucky's swollen belly. He smiles as the baby kicks at his palm. "Our child will know and love Brooklyn just as well as you and I do. We'll make sure of it."

Bucky nods and kisses Steve gently on the lips, smiling softly. "Thank you, Steve."

They ride back to the palace nestled against each other in the golden glow of the sun, thinking of the joyful future ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Vienna Teng's gorgeous and poetic ["Eric's Song"](https://youtu.be/rc6maCBAAnU). The lyrics are a perfect description of Steve and Bucky's relationship, especially in this fic. 
> 
> I tried to do research on medieval fashion and customs as best I could. If there are any glaring anachronisms, please feel free to inform me. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. So are art pieces, podcasts, moodboards, etc. Link me if you do create something inspired by this work!
> 
> [Rebloggable Tumblr post](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/post/187748532633/a-distance-erased-with-the-greatest-of-ease)
> 
> Come say hello: [Tumblr](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/) | [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/dragongirlg)


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